


Look Both Ways

by GreyDaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Second Person, Sad, negative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyDaze/pseuds/GreyDaze
Summary: You can see it happening and even explain it, but it doesn't make anything rational.





	Look Both Ways

She doesn’t know it, but you’ve figured out her moods. When she’s happy her smile breaks free at the edges of her chapped lips. When she’s solemn her mind goes far away and her eyes seem to gaze into the empty air. When she’s panicked she watches the door and in her mind she’s already sprinting down the hall where she can fall apart without being seen. She doesn’t know it, but you know she’s empty.

You don’t know exactly when it was that you began to notice. Was it after one too many skipped meals? Or maybe it was the long silence that stretched out in the house when she’d locked herself away into her room. She was a girl who stopped. Just stopped. She stopped seeing the meaning in each day, the point of doing extra. She stopped looking at herself as a human being and more like an old doll left on a shelf. She thought she was decoration.

You know she’s more than that. That she has immeasurable talent. That beneath her dull eyes was a world of so much color and beauty it was unimaginable as to how she contained it within her small frame. That beneath her whispered words was a weapon of observation. 

But she’s so fragile. She pretends not to notice when people take jabs at her introversion right in front of her. You feel angry when you think of how blind people are. They think that being loud and proud and all around that it makes them superior. No, she doesn’t say much. But you remember the kindness she’d shown you, and her gentle touch against your face. She doesn’t need to say anything to have meaning. 

Time is ticking, and she’s falling apart. To you she looks like an angel with gray feathers, but when she looks in the mirror she sees reflected a terrible ugly ghoul. She thinks she’s some kind of monster because she isn’t like other people. She calls them “normal”. You call them stupid. And you watch from the shadows as she tears at her skin like it’s a bad costume.

Having her around is a burden. She knows it. She hates it. You hate that she hates it, but hate even more that you can’t deny it. She’s pathetic. You can tell her all day and night how great and wonderful she is; can promise that she’s good. It doesn’t matter, because in the middle of the night you can hear her choking on her own breath and shaking on the floor. She’s broken. You can’t fix her, you’re not even sure if you tried.

You hear the front door gently close one night, and find that she’s not in her room. Skin prickling; you get a feeling of dread running down your spine. You head back to bed and fall into a dreamless sleep. She’s back by morning, sound asleep and nested in a pile of blankets on her bed. 

Its dinnertime- you made her favorite. She says she isn’t hungry. Ignoring the pang of hurt that comes with those tired words, you eat in silence. After dinner you take her hand and lead her to the car. It’s a clear sky and the stars are glittering in the night. Starting the car, you drive along in no particular direction with soft, tinkling music playing in the background.

“I love this,” she says, breaking the silence. Her huge eyes are gazing up into the cosmos. You could swear you caught a glimpse of her soul sparkling in the depths beneath her eyelids. Maybe she isn’t human after all. You think with a hidden smile that she must be some lost celestial god from a time lost forever. Her skin is turning to dust with each day, fading away and leaving only mystery.

“I thought you would,” you reply with a laugh. Only she would enjoy a long nighttime ride into the middle of nowhere, while other people are partying and drinking their free time away. You yourself wouldn’t mind catching a movie or something. There’s just something about nighttime car rides that feel like a completely different realm. 

And suddenly, you find words spilling out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you start. “I’m sorry you’re sad. I’m sorry you’re scared, and anxious. I know you are. And you’re hurting, and I think that maybe,” you swallow thickly, “you don’t remember how to be ‘normal’.” You take a deep breath, feeling a swell of emotions rushing to the surface.

“But it’s okay. That’s growing up. People tell you that you can’t play games and can’t tell jokes because it’s time to be a certain way. And it sucks. They tell you not to be sad about it, to get over it because that’s how it is. And maybe most people can do it; I think that’s how you see it. People somehow magically get all this charisma and can enjoy all the terrible things in life. I can’t speak for everyone so I can’t tell you if it’s right or not.” 

Taking a moment to wonder if what you’re saying even makes sense, you spare her a glance. Her skin has gone icy pale, and body stiff. She won’t meet your eyes. “I wish you didn’t hate yourself for it. You’re not just a child stuck in an adult body, you’re not as messed up you think you are. You have something other people don’t, and while some might tell you it’s a gift, I know it hurts to be different. You have something nobody else can have, and I,” you sniffle, nose starting to run, “Think that they’re jealous. And give you a harder time. People make all those stuffy rules just to make life harder for people like you.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” a tear slides down your cheek. “You don’t deserve this.”

“I do,” she whispers. Her eyes are closed.

“You don’t!” You’re shaking your head now, lips quivering.

The car has rolled to a stop. The moon overhead is like a ghastly eye writhing in cold and watching with judgment. The girl beside you has seemingly shrunk into a child. So small and fragile, you want to wrap your arms around her, run your fingers through her hair.

“You think the world won’t love you if you don’t conform. And you can’t conform because that wouldn’t be you,” you rest your head against the steering wheel feeling out of breath. Reaching over, you take her little hand in yours.

“I love you.”

Throwing your head back you glare at the moon. Empty hands squeezing into fists.

“Aren’t you tired of lying to yourself?” it seems to ask you, exasperated as you sit alone in your car.


End file.
